


Vodka

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron can't think straight or see straight, but he knows what Harry is asking him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vodka

**Title:** Vodka  
 **Pairing:** Harry / Ron  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings / Content:** Drunken sex, D/s, language, first time.  
 **Word Count:** ~3,446

**Vodka**

  
Drinking vodka out of tiny glasses. Ron blinked through his swimming vision and made a blurry mental note to never, ever drink vodka again.  
  
What's more, he decided never to drink anything Harry gave him ever again. It always seemed to land him in a mess. However, Ron didn't think that the word 'mess' quite fitted their current situation. Time was a concept he had long forgotten, along with dignity and followed swiftly by modesty. No, what was happening as a result of vodka was not timely, dignified or modest in any way, shape or form. What was happening was going to cause hell come the dawn. Or dusk. Ron had no idea whereabouts in the twenty-four hour clock he actually was, anyway.  
  
A deep, lustful moan jerked him from his drunken thoughts. He looked down in between his legs and saw a dark head there, bobbing away in the middle of his thighs, and also, he saw his own cock, standing out proud, pink and glistening from his pubes. And Harry. Harry's mouth around his cock. Harry's cheeks hollowed with the effort of sucking him. Harry's lopsided glasses and low-lidded eyes. Harry. _Harry._  
  
A gasp escaped him as Harry's tongue lapped almost inquisitively at the tip. He didn't know why he was being quiet. Their walls were soundproofed to the hilt, and not because prior to the vodka they'd been lovers prone to loud, rampant sexual antics. No, before the vodka, Ron had got by on stolen glances, looking away quickly so that, apparently, Harry could look at him. The walls were soundproofed because they were young men, with a penchant for loud music, screaming matches over the washing up and big parties.  
  
Not for sex. Until then, anyway.  
  
Hot fingers suddenly curled up over his thighs and Ron held his breath, forcing himself to meet Harry's eye. Harry himself detached from Ron's cock with an obscene little pop which caused a throb in Ron's balls. Ron waited.  
  
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, a blush spreading across his cheekbones. He looked away.  
  
“What?” Ron winced. Surely, that wasn't his voice? That thick, husky noise couldn't possibly be coming from him? He licked his lower lip.  
“I don't know if I should...”  
“Harry, mate. If you're about to say this was all a joke, I think it's a bit late for that.”  
“No! No, not that. I mean, unless you want me to stop, I-”  
“Does this look like I want you stop?” Ron slurred, flexing his penis so that it batted Harry in the chin.  
  
Harry succumbed to a drunken bout of giggling and Ron couldn't help but snigger watching him.  
  
“Okay. But it's kind of... embarrassing.”  
“Tell me.”  
“Promise me you won't laugh?”  
“I promise.” Ron might laugh. He was drunk enough. He hoped he could control himself.  
  
Hurting Harry seemed like the worst possible thing he could do.  
  
“I have a fantasy.”  
“Join the club.” Ron snorted.  
“About you.”  
“Oh aye?” Ron waggled his eyebrows. He stilled when Harry didn't react except for to blush even harder. “Tell me.” Ron reached out with his forefinger and lightly touched it to Harry's nose.  
  
Harry muttered something incoherent.  
  
“Eh?”  
“You heard me.”  
“No I bloody didn't. I don't even think the mice in the skirting boards could have heard that.”  
“You told me you did deterrent spells!”  
“I tell you I've done a lot of shit when I haven't. Washing up. A clothes wash. Reports at work.”  
  
Ron shrugged and shot Harry a cheeky wink. Harry was technically his superior at work, almost his boss. But he was drunk and _vodka_ was doing all the talking, and he didn't care.  
  
“Now, tell me!”  
“Well... I just... You know how some people like to be... bossed about?”  
“Unlike me,” Ron said, nodding.  
“Unlike you,” Harry agreed, still blushing. His eyes dropped to his knees. “I think I might like being... bossed about. Ordered about. Dominated.”  
  
The last word was a whisper and Ron hadn't seen Harry look so ashamed about anything since they were at school.  
  
“Dominated,” he repeated slowly, letting it sink in.  
“By you.”  
“Me?” Ron echoed, aghast.  
“It's stupid,” Harry said immediately, jumping to his feet and making for the door.  
  
Ron was on his feet, swaying with inebriation, before he really knew what he was doing. He managed to catch Harry around the waist before he could escape, and sent them both sprawling onto the sofa. Harry wriggled and Ron trapped him with iron arms and one carefully positioned leg. Harry still avoided his gaze.  
  
“Look at me,” Ron said, trying to meet Harry's eye.  
“No, I shouldn't've-”  
“I said, _look at me_!” Ron half-growled, giving Harry a forceful shake.  
  
Harry immediately stilled, his eyes becoming alert and his breath increasing.  
  
“How long have you had this fantasy?” He kept his tone low and serious; he kept his eyes trained on Harry's.  
“A... while,” Harry finished carefully.  
“How long?” Ron demanded.  
“Five years,” Harry whispered, face finally flooding with an unattractive puce colour and closing his eyes.  
“Look at me,” Ron repeated. “That's an order.”  
  
He heard Harry's breath catch in his throat and a surge of power seemed to run through Ron, causing him to clutch at Harry even more tightly.  
  
“And what sort of stuff might I tell you to do?”  
“Like... all sorts of stuff.”  
“Tell me.”  
“Ron-”  
“Tell me.”  
  
He hoped he wasn't pushing it. Somehow, it was easy to deliver what Harry had suggested he liked.  
  
“I've thought about... well... you forcing me to lick your cock, whenever you want. Wherever you want. And I've thought about you punishing me for not obeying.”  
  
Cock twitching, Ron fought off the vodka haze to try and pay attention. He liked the sound of that.  
  
“And I've thought about you making me your sex slave,” Harry whispered, his eyes finally closing. “And making me do... everything. Anything you wanted. And being tied up by you.”  
  
Somewhere in the duration of that last admission, they'd lost the ability to stay still. Ron rolled his hips and saw black sparks in his vision.  
  
“And is that what you really want, or is it just a fantasy?”  
“I don't know.”  
“Do you want to find out?”  
“Do you?”  
  
Ron stared at him, mind racing. Only hours ago, however many it actually was, he had found out that Harry was attracted to him. Ron had been hiding his own attraction for years. Harry had been taken. Harry had been heartbroken. Harry had been enjoying being a single man. And repeat. There had never been a right time to step in and say, “Hey, you know, I think I love you!”  
  
And now Harry was next to him, naked, saying that he had been dreaming of Ron dominating him. It was too much for his mind to process in one night. Ron blinked. Harry looked at him expectantly, clearly expecting a fatal blow to his fantasy.  
  
 _I can't hurt you. I would never hurt you. I love you._  
  
Fighting to keep his voice steady, Ron said, “I want you to get up, go to the bedroom and kneel on the bed. Wait for me.”  
“Ron-” Harry's tone was placatory.  
“Go,” Ron insisted, giving him a little push. “You've got two minutes. You will be punished if you're not in exactly the right position.”  
“But you haven't said-”  
“You should know,” Ron said, eyebrows raised.  
  
Harry let out an excited exhale as he threw himself from the sofa and disappeared. Ron rolled flat on his back and gaped at the ceiling, his mouth open, finally allowing himself to experience the shock of everything he'd learnt that day. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. He scrubbed his face with them too, hoping to shake off some of the vodka fog. It didn't work.  
  
When he stood, it was on wobbly legs and he breathed in and out several times to try and ground himself. That didn't work either; he hadn't expected it to. He set off for the bedroom with his heart banging away in his chest. At the doorway to their bedroom, he stopped, looking inside. Harry was kneeling facing the wall, head bowed, hands crossed at the small of his back, legs crossed at the ankle. He'd obviously thought a lot about it. Ron tried to remain as quiet as possible – which was no easy feat considering the amount of alcohol in his blood – and climbed onto the bed behind him. He touched his hands to Harry's back without speaking. Pleasure sparked within him at Harry's little jump of pleasure.  
  
“Bend over.”  
  
Harry wordlessly obeyed, resting his cheek on the duvet, leaving his backside exposed. Ron looked at it hungrily. He'd had his own fantasies. And having Harry free for the taking and his to explore was most definitely one of them.  
  
“Is there anything that you don't want me to do?” He asked quietly, stroking down Harry's spine to let his fingers rest at the top of his crack.  
“Nuh-uh. Anything.” The words were breathy.  
“I don't want to hurt you. Or upset you. Promise me you'll tell me if this all gets too much?”  
“I will.”  
“Do you promise me?” Ron urged, suddenly hot with fear of going too far, of pushing too hard, considering that he didn't really know what he was doing.  
  
“I promise,” Harry whispered. “Ron?”  
“What?”  
“Spank me.”  
  
Ron looked from his hand to Harry's pale buttocks in dismay.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
“Stop asking me if I'm sure. You're meant to be sure. Just do it.”  
  
A tiny spark of irritation flickered to life in his chest and Ron huffed. He touched the palm of his hand to Harry's arse and squeezed. Harry moaned so he did it again. And again. And again. There were grabby, big hand prints all over the skin. Ron let one finger tickle over a dark spot between the two cheeks, which made Harry squirm, and then he raised his hand and slapped it firmly to one buttock. Harry jerked on the bed and gasped. Ron did it again, and again, bringing his hand down over the supple flesh, until it was bright red and Harry was panting into the duvet. Palm stinging, Ron turned his attention to Harry's anus again, using one finger to circle the tight ring of muscle. Harry quivered in front of him.  
  
Trying to understand the smile which came to his lips, Ron reached with his other hand to grope for Harry's cock, finding hard and damp against the bed. He took it in hand and stroked it once, twice, a third time, still using his other hand to trace the outline of the tight sphincter.  
  
“Want me to go in?” he asked suggestively, trying to keep his voice of the same tone which had provoked Harry before. “Want me to fuck you with it?” He pressed against the opening in the skin. “Want me to fuck you with my fingers and you can pretend it's my cock?”  
“Want your cock,” Harry choked, his features twisted with want.  
“Do you?” Ron asked nonchalantly. “Good to know.”  
  
And though his hand was still stinging from before, he resumed spanking again. That time, Harry cried out, not bothering to muffle his cry in the duvet. Ron decided he liked that. He began spreading the falls of his palm – to Harry's cheeks, the tops of his thighs, dangerously near his ball sac. Harry whimpered on the bed.  
  
Ron stopped and straightened, massaging his sore hand with the other. “Sit up.”  
  
Harry did so and waited, wincing as his heels pressed into the abused flesh of his backside. Ron smiled again. He crawled around so that they faced each other and put his fingers to Harry's nipples. He pinched and Harry moaned. Ron pinched harder and Harry's face contorted with pleasure.  
  
“Do you like that?”  
“Yes.”  
“Yes what?”  
“Yes sir,” Harry breathed, wantonly tipping his head back.  
“That's right,” Ron whispered, leaning close. He scraped a fingernail over a nipple. “You fucking want it. You want me to do it til you scream, don't you?”  
“Yes sir!” Harry's words became a scream as Ron reached down and palmed his cock.  
  
With his other hand, Ron spread his fingers over the back of Harry's head and pulled it forward. He began to push Harry's face down towards his own crotch.  
  
“I want you to suck me off,” he muttered, letting his mouth fall open in a silent O shape as Harry's lips took him in. “And I want you to suck me until I come, and then you're going to drink it.”  
  
A rather delighted squeak rose up from Harry and Ron grinned, tightening his grip in Harry's hair and holding him in place. Harry only responded with fiercer sucking and Ron groaned, pressing his hips forward.  
  
“Fuck yeah, Harry. Suck me, so fucking hard it's all you want for the rest of your fucking life, you slut.” He gasped, throwing both hands to the task of keeping Harry in place.  
  
There were moans of encouragement and Ron shivered. Harry was sucking him, it was beyond hot, and he had demanded that it be done. His mind wandered, wondering what else he could get Harry to do, so willing and pliant. Some images from his dirtier mind store flashed up and Ron blushed.  
  
“I want you to lick me,” he breathed, yanking Harry's head back with the fistfuls of hair he held. “Like you've never tasted it before. Slowly.”  
  
Hot breath tickled his exposed head and Ron felt a pull in his belly. When Harry touched his tongue to the same flesh, Ron let out a grunt. He looked down to watch.  
  
It was his undoing. He grabbed Harry's head once again and brought it closer. He stretched out his cock so that it was in line with the man's lips. And then, with a deep, guttural moan and a pull from low in his balls, he came, spilling hard over Harry's mouth and chin.  
  
“Open up,” he ground out, and then enjoyed the sight of his come spraying onto Harry's tongue. “Swallow.”  
  
Harry did so. Ron fought to breathe. He fell sideways when Harry touched his mouth to the head again, washing away the remnants of the come.  
  
“Good boy, clean me up,” he joked, patting Harry on the head.  
  
Harry continued to lick. Ron quickly became oversensitive and winced.  
  
“Come here,” he murmured. He reached out but needn't have bothered because Harry moved willingly.  
  
Ron pulled so that Harry laid alongside him, resting his dark head into the crook of Ron's elbow. He looked down into Harry's face and found it nervous and wide-eyed, waiting, presumably, for a freak out.  
  
Leaning down, Ron kissed him to try and smooth away the worries. When they parted again, Harry looked relieved.  
  
“Something like that?” Ron said finally, blanching with embarrassment when his voice cracked mid-sentence.  
“Yeah... something like that,” Harry agreed, his voice distant.  
“Are you all right?”  
“Are you going to hate me in the morning? For all this?”  
“I doubt it.” He smiled.  
“But now you're pumped full of vodka. What about when you wake up and you remember what we did? The things I said? The things _you_ said?”  
  
Harry was starting to unravel. Ron tried to think quickly how best to save the situation, but once the fog of his orgasm was gone, good old vodka was suddenly back, and nothing came to mind. He did the only thing he could – he rolled on top of Harry and kissed him again. The words immediately stopped and Harry fell still beneath him, kissing him back tentatively and sweetly.  
  
“It's fine,” Ron whispered, barely pulling away before he spoke. “Everything's going to be fine, Harry. Now. I don't remember you ever getting yours, am I right?”  
“You're right.”  
  
***  
  
Ron was fairly sure he was dying. His head was crashing so loudly that he was sure he'd hear nothing over the top of the noise ever again. His stomach was empty and his mouth tasted sour. He was sure the room was spinning around the bed. Or maybe the bed was spinning, he wasn't sure.  
  
He needed the loo and he needed a drink of water, but both of those things would require leaving the relative safety of the duvet and throwing himself to the mercy of the bobbing floor and the assault course which made up his bedroom.  
  
“Ron?” Harry's voice grabbed his attention but also caused pain spikes in his head. “Are you all right?”  
  
Ron thought he answered, but all he heard was a groan and a gentle laugh from Harry.  
  
“Sit up,” Harry advised, reaching out to push tangled hair out of Ron's eyes. “And then I've some water and Hangover Cure for you.”  
“I love you,” Ron said hoarsely, mustering all his strength to push himself to sitting. The bedroom was freezing and he didn't think he'd ever felt quite so rough.  
  
He practically snatched the glass of water and vial of potion from Harry's hands, and knocked the cure back first and washed it down with the water. He came out gasping on the other side, his lips damp and his torso freezing. Harry relieved him of the glassware and said nothing, waiting for the potion to do its work. Ron shivered and glanced around the room.  
  
“Hey,” Harry said finally, when Ron had relaxed his shoulders and could see more clearly.  
“Hey yourself,” he said with a tiny grin. “So...”  
“You said you loved me.”  
“So I did.”  
“And you said a lot more last night. Did you mean any of it?”  
“Of course I fucking did, Harry.”  
“But-”  
“Harry. Look. I've wanted what happened last night for a good few years. So please don't question me as to whether I mean what I say or not. I'm over the fucking moon. When I get over this hell I might shout it from the rooftops. I love you. Deal with it.”  
“But this is all so fast, and we got drunk... You didn't even say anything... I thought...”  
“Harry. Please shut up?” Ron arranged his expression into what he hoped looked like a pleading one, and waited for Harry to continue.  
“I don't want to ruin our friendship.”  
“You won't. This won't. We won't. As I see it, we now have the best of both worlds. Best mates and now... well, last night we were together physically as well. And... emotionally.”  
“And that's what you want?”  
“I do. You?”  
“I want it,” Harry murmured.  
  
“Then what's the problem?” Ron found it easy to smile then, to lean over and press a kiss to Harry's lips with the Hangover Cure working pure magic on his beleaguered body.  
  
“I can't believe that I admitted to you that I liked... _that_ ,” Harry whispered, sounding mortified. Ron opened his eyes to find him blushing again.  
“I don't care what you like. I'm pretty sure I'd do anything for you. And it's not like I hated it; if you noticed, I was pretty into it myself. And I'll do it again, any time that you ask.”  
“Can you tell me something really weird about yourself so I can feel a bit better?”  
“Harry, liking that doesn't make you weird. I mean... after all you went through as a kid, you could have been _really_ weird, but you're not. You're you. And if you want me to spank you, and boss you around and make you give me head, I'm really not going to complain.”  
  
Harry let out a nervous snort and Ron kissed him again.  
  
“Besides,” Ron said, after a moment. “I'm waiting for the right moment to tell you that I've been imagining you in women's underwear for a long, long time.”  
  
Eyes flying wide, Harry sucked in a little gasp of breath which caused Ron's cock to stiffen under the heavy, luxurious duvet of his bed.  
  
“Feel better?” he asked, grinning harder.  
“Fuck yes.”  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
